


Jet Pack Blues (She's in a long black coat tonight, waiting for me in the downpour outside)

by xxxintothedarknessxxx



Series: My Body Is An Orphanage (We take everyone in) [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxintothedarknessxxx/pseuds/xxxintothedarknessxxx
Summary: Pete and Patrick are just two boys, lost without a family. They're about to discover that family doesn't begin or end with blood.





	Jet Pack Blues (She's in a long black coat tonight, waiting for me in the downpour outside)

**Author's Note:**

> Pete is 21, and Patrick is 15/16.

Pete's out walking in the rain late one night, or maybe it's early morning. It's kind of hard to tell, but it’s not raining hard. He just knows he isn't sleeping and there's no one at home to notice he's gone. Not for the first time, he's contemplating simply throwing himself into traffic and being done with it. If it looked like an accident, the driver wouldn't have to feel bad for leaving their tyre marks on his back.

'You're out late.' A teenage boy dressed in dark skinny jeans and a tight trench coat that can't be all that warm takes his foot off the wall and walks over to where Pete is standing on the corner from his spot under the eaves of a closed shop.  
'Just taking a walk.' Or he should be, it's too cold to stand around.  
'Nice night for it. You want to have a little fun?' A slight wiggle in the hips, a shy smile, a glance up from under his lashes...was this kid flirting with him? Pete looks him up and down. He's what, seventeen? Maybe eighteen at the most?  
'With you?'  
'Sure, why not. You got something against red-heads?' A wink. Definitely flirting. What does a kid his age want with a guy like Pete at this hour-oh. Something uncomfortable coils in Pete's stomach as he realizes exactly the kind of fun this kid's about.  
'No. You just seem a little young for the kind of fun you can have when the sun's not out.'  
'You're not exactly grown up yourself, Dad.' The kid rolls his eyes and leans back against the wall, clearly giving up on this potential customer.  
'I'm 21!' He has no idea why he's arguing with this kid. He has nothing to prove. 'That's a hell of a lot older than you are. Are you even legal?'  
'Yeah, you're right. That's REALLY mature. Look, you're either in or you're out, but I'm working here and you're gonna drive away my business with questions like that.' The kid is running out of patience. Pete momentarily debates leaving him to his problems (he's clearly got more than a few) before deciding that maybe he could help the kid instead. Do some good in the world before he leaves it. 

'What business? This place is dead. You must be freezing standing there. When was the last time you ate something?' Pete was willing to bet the kid didn't have much money for food. He was dressed well enough but the motel he was at wasn't cheap. The keycard was sticking out of the kid's jacket pocket.  
'I get by. If you don't mind, I have to work. Can't be hanging around talking to guys who aren't buying if I actually want to pay my rent.'  
'Yeah, no kidding. That place ain't exactly a roach motel.' Pete gestured to the card. The kid stuffed it back inside.  
'There's always cops hanging around at the cheap ones. Not worth the risk of getting picked up.'  
'No one to bail you out?' As he asks this, they see a shiny black car roll to a stop a little ways up the street and flash its headlights, once, twice.  
'Hey, man, I can look after myself, okay? If you're done asking questions, there's some lonely old men out there looking for company.' The kid pushed off the wall again and made out towards the car.

'I'm pretty lonely myself, actually.' Finally, a bite. The kid turns to face Pete.  
'You looking for company?'  
'I'd rather just buy you a meal. Maybe we could talk for a while.' The kid looks conflicted, glancing back and forth between Pete and the car. Food vs. Rent. Either way, the kids figures, the price is the same.  
'I'll make up whatever you lose. Humor me...' Pete paused for a moment as the headlights flashed again. 'Its better than the alternative.' The kid nodded and walked with him. 

They ended up in an all-night diner a few blocks away. Not far from where the kid was staying, but it's nowhere he'd have found on his own. After a while of sitting in silence, he asked.  
'How do you know about this place?'  
'I don't sleep so well. I spend most of my nights looking for places to hang out while I wait for the world to wake up.'  
'Marital problems? Serial killer? Those are the main reasons guys like you end up walking around a city like this at night.' A waitress interrupts then. Pete's ordered coffee, and lots of it, with a plate of fries to share. They won't do breakfast here until 3. Pete's asked.  
'Single, actually, and I'm not a serial killer, just lonely. Too much time locked away with my thoughts.' A pause.  
'So, how did YOU end up on that corner tonight? It's clearly not your first rodeo, so...' The kid looks serious.  
'Serial killer. Obviously. Soon as we leave, I'm going to kill you in an alleyway and carve my initials in your back.' The kid is joking though as he sips his coffee and a genuine smile finds its way onto his face.  
'Thanks for the heads up. I'm Pete, in case you like to know your victims' names.' He puts a fry in his mouth and stretches a hand across the table.  
'Patrick. In case you'd like to know the letter I'm going to carve into your skin.' He shakes Pete's hand and is only slightly unnerved by the grin on his face. He's not unattractive when he smiles though, and Patrick thinks maybe this job won't be so bad. He seems nice enough, feeding him first. 

'Since we've established my death tonight, I'd say we can cut the pretense. How much did you lose?' Now the kid looks baffled. It'd be kind of adorable if they weren't discussing Johns. Pete pushes. 'The car.'  
'Uh...' That client gets him a room for the weekend. Two nights off the street, just for turning up. Anything extra pays for food. It's a cushy job compared to some other clients, and with it being September already, well, he couldn't really afford to turn it down. It'll be days before that guy comes back. Patrick tries to calculate how many back-alley blowjobs it'll take to make up for what he's lost. He just doesn't get the traffic here. Two nights at least, and then it all goes straight on the room, nothing for food. He wonders how long that box of cereal will last and figures he'll have to try working up a block or two, avoiding that guy that threatened to break his neck for working his corner and stealing his clients.

'That much, huh? It's ok, I told you I'd make up for it. How much are we talking?' Patrick mumbles out the answer and Pete drops a fifty and some twenties on the table.  
'Thanks.' The kid reaches out and stuffs the money in his pocket. Pete wonders if a cop would book him for solicitation. He glances at the clock. 2.45. He'd catch the waitress the next time she came round, order some real food.  
'So, Patrick. How did you end up in this job?'  
'It's a good time.' He's guarded again. Patrick's always weary of clients who lay out the big bucks. Especially upfront. He can't imagine what it is this guy wants. He thinks about asking, but clients like this never want confident and blunt. They want well-behaved and subservient. 

'Really? You enjoy it?' Pete found that hard to believe.  
'Yeah. Love the job. Love anything if it pays the rent.' Patrick skulls what's left of his coffee and gives a small, lopsided smile.  
'Wouldn't you rather be at home with your family? Where's your parents, Patrick?'  
'I live alone. I like it that way. My parents never allowed visitors after dark, where as I have guests over all the time.' Is he playing footsie with Pete? Could the kid be any more suggestive? Pete pulls his leg away and hands him a menu, looking troubled.  
'Read. Do they know that you do this? Spend time with strange men to keep a roof over your head and food in your stomach? What kind of parents are they?'  
'I don't know and I don't care. Don't yours give a crap that you're out all night with a prostitute?' Don't antagonize a client, Patrick. You know better.  
'I've been on my own for a while now, too.' Pete gives the boy a warm smile. He'd been 17 and a friend took him in, until he moved away to Philly and Pete hadn't been able to go with him. Still let him sublet that apartment though, which was great because its rent controlled. Pete thought in all that he'd been pretty lucky. He waved the waitress down and she re-filled their cups.  
'What do you want to eat?' Clearly that meant he was forgiving Patrick's transgression for now. He settled on a short stack. Pete got waffles and bacon. 

The kid made a few more failed passes at Pete while they ate, and it was 3.30 when their plates were cleared and they finished their third and fourth cups of coffee.  
'Look, it's been great and all, but it's early enough that I can maybe find a client if there's nothing more I can do for you.' He plays footsie once again. Pete slides his sneakered foot back. Patrick stands up.  
'You could come home with me.' That draws his interest.  
'Rules are my place or no place. I don't go to the homes of clients.'  
'I mean I can give you a place to crash.' You should never agree to go home with a client. Ever. That's how you become a sex slave, trapped with nowhere to go. That's what happened to a friend of his who used to walk near him on the next block. He’d told Patrick he was thinking about agreeing to a live-in situation, then he never saw Jon again.  
'No. I don't do house calls or live-ins. You want my time, you pay by the hour on my turf.'  
'It's not like that. I want to help you, kid. You’d never have to do this again.'  
'I don't need your help.'  
'Why don't you take my number instead? We could be friends.' Maybe he could find another way to reach out to the kid. Calling the cops would only get him in trouble, and he's yet to meet a kid that's really better off in the foster care system.  
'I don't need a friend.'  
'Everyone needs a friend.'  
'I don't.'  
'Maybe I do.' Pete shrugged, holding out a napkin, the word 'victim' scrawled beneath the number. Patrick takes it, puts it in his pocket, and would later text 'Thanks for the nice night ;) -serial killer'. Even if this guy didn't want to get laid, maybe there was money to be made if he kept on his good side.  
'Thanks for the food, Pete.'  
'Night, Patrick.' 

It was late on Tuesday night when Pete found himself walking around to that same spot in the city. As he rounded the corner he saw Patrick being thrown from a car with a boot to the stomach, the same car from Friday (or was it Saturday by that point?) and the car peeling away. He was curled into the fetal position, clutching his arm, his eye swollen and bruises blooming already to match the blood from his split lip. Pete crouched next to him.  
'Shit, Patrick. Are you alright? Come on, stand up, let's get you out of here.' He got Patrick to his feet and took him straight into the diner where his favorite waitress, Meghan was working.  
'Meg, this is Patrick, he's had a bit of a spill.'  
She sent them straight to the back booth and searched out the first aid kit and some ice.  
'Do I need to call the cops? An ambulance?'  
'No, I'm fine, thank you.' She looked disbelievingly at Patrick, then glanced to Pete.  
'It's ok, we got it, thanks Meg.' There was a big tip in it for her if she shut her mouth tonight. Pete begged silently.  
'Bottomless coffee, coming right up. Want a menu?'  
'Not right now. Thank you.' She left them be and Patrick held the ice to his eye, hoping it doesn't bruise too badly. When it gets too cold, he ices his lip, going back and forth while they sip their coffee. 

'What happened?'  
'He wasn't happy about the other night.'  
'So he beat you up?'  
'Hey, some like it rough.' Patrick winced, having tried to smirk despite the split in his lip.  
'Is that was this was?'  
'No. He didn't pay for that, and now I've got to hope I haven't bruised too much.' Pete snaps a photo of Patrick on his cellphone and hands it over.  
'Sh-I'm not going to be able to work now. They don't like it when you face is three shades of blue.'  
'How's that arm?'  
'Fine.'  
'Give me a look at it.' He did. So far as Pete could tell it wasn't broken, just sprained and swollen.  
'That's gonna hurt for a while though.'  
'It's fine. I'll take something and deal.' Pete raised an eyebrow. He hoped Patrick wasn't into drugs as he tied the disposable sling around his neck.  
'Aleve. Like you said, it's not my first rodeo.' He knew better than to take anything that might affect his decision making skills or reaction time. One time a client gave him something brown in a bag that he knew was bad news and he flushed down the toilet as soon as he left. Jon told him not to be stupid, that was good money he was throwing away so he swapped him the next time for food. 

'My offer still stands. You can stay at my place if you want,' then 'it's not like you can pay for your motel room if you aren't working.' The guy had a point, but still.  
'Why do you care so much anyway?' Patrick moved the ice back to his lip. At least it's stopped bleeding now.  
'Maybe I don't. Maybe I think I owe you something.'  
'Well, you don't. Why would you?' Pete decides to go with brutal honesty. 

'Maybe because you saved my life. I was about to walk out into traffic that night when you tried to pick me up.'  
'Bullsh-'  
'Bipolar. Heavily medicated, but it doesn't always work.'  
'Ok, well, you scraped me off the sidewalk tonight so I guess that makes us even.'  
'Guess so.' Neither of them made to stand up as Pete packed up the first aid kit and handed it back to Meghan. She placed it back under the counter and brought a pot of coffee over.  
'You boys ready to order? Bacon and hash browns are good at this hour.' It was only 2.30 but they weren't going to argue. Pete really loved that woman. He said so, too.  
'Oh, honey I don't go for the scrappy, misfit type.' But she was smiling. Patrick snickered around the ice and Pete kicked his shoe, trying not to blush. She disappeared. 

'You have a thing for the waitress?'  
'No I don't. Shut up.'  
'You totally do! Hey, Meg!' Patrick raised his uninjured arm and tried to get her attention.  
'Sit DOWN!' It was too late, Meg looked their way. 'I'm sorry, you'll have to ignore him. He gets hyperactive after midnight, kind of like a gremlin.' He glared playfully at Patrick who was trying not to laugh as Meg turned away.  
'Screw you, man, that's not funny. I don't have a chance with her anyway.'  
'Oh, so that's why you brought me here. She sees you looking out for me and she thinks you're a knight in shining armor.' Patrick teases.  
'Yeah, that's totally it. It's about some girl who won't give me the time of day.'  
'Why then? I mean, really. You don't know me.' Patrick all of a sudden seems quiet, reserved.  
'I see myself in you. If it wasn't for a friend, I would have been, well, I probably would have been you. I think you could use a friend. I'd like to be him.' 

Patrick turned the thought over in his head while Meg returned with their food. He was injured, so he was vulnerable, and he couldn't work, so there was no way he could pay for that motel room. He had maybe 2 days left and he'd be out on his ass, and frankly, he'd barely eaten since Sunday, chugging water from a faucet just to try to feel full. He had ten bucks in his pocket to cover his meal. He'd been counting on that asshole to scrape by for the week and now all he had was a beating. Yeah, he needed help.  
'I think...I think maybe I do need a friend.'  
'You're in luck. I learned from the best.' They shared a smile and dug in. 

Later, Meg would watch them stand to leave, the way Patrick put down his last ten bucks and Pete told him not to bother, leaving a fifty to cover the food and a massive tip for Meg for being such a saint; and then Pete putting his arm around the kid's shoulders and being shrugged off.  
He put both hands in the air, the classic 'don't shoot' of body language. 'Ok, sorry. You looked a little unsteady on your feet.' The door swung shut behind them.

Pete took the kid back to his place.  
'We can go and get your stuff in the morning.'  
'Look around. It's 4 o'clock. It IS the morning.'  
'Ok, fine then. In the afternoon. I'm tired right now, aren't you?'  
'Yeah.' Pete got Patrick sheets and a blanket for the couch, before going into the bedroom and bringing back a pillow.  
'Bathroom's over there, tv's there. Glasses are in that cupboard if you want a drink. Don't wake me up unless the house is burning down. Night.'  
'Night.' 

When Pete woke up it was just on 12 o'clock and Patrick was already up, sheets and blankets folded, watching tv and hugging the pillow.  
'Morning.'  
'Thanks for letting me stay last night.'  
'Sure thing. You hungry? How's that eye?' Patrick touched it and winced.  
'Hurts a little but I can still see out of it.' He let Pete re-tie the sling, which had come loose in the night.  
'What about your stomach? I saw you get kicked.' Pete reaches towards his shirt. Patrick pulls away but lifts the hem himself.  
'Just a bruise, see? I'm fine.' Just a bruise. It was a boot print, clear and dark across his skin. It strikes Pete then just how young this kid is, his eyes weary, his hair mussed from sleeping and the way his body is talking. Don't touch me. Don't hurt me. Vulnerable. But desperate enough to trust him. For now. He stands up, stretches, ambles into the kitchen and puts bowls and spoons on the table. 'Breakfast?'

Patrick follows him and sits down opposite.  
'So, how long have you been doing this Patrick?'  
'Almost a year now.'  
'And how old are you?'  
'Sixteen in April.' Pete nearly chokes on his Cap'n'Crunch.  
'You're fifteen?'  
'Not forever.' It hits Pete like a bus that Patrick's been at this since he was fourteen years old. A child. He's disgusted at Patrick's parents.  
'Where the fuck's your mom and dad?'  
'1245 Maple Drive, Chicago South. Last I heard, anyway.'  
'Last you heard?'  
'I know where they are, but I don't have anything to do with them. For all I know they could've moved. It's been a year.'  
'They wouldn't want to hear from you?'  
'Would yours?' They eat in silence as they realize they would both answer 'no'. After they eat, Pete takes a quick shower. 'I'd ask you if you want to take one, but you don't have any clothes, and I haven't done laundry in a month, ' he says apologetically 'I'm down to my last pair of underwear and a semi-clean shirt. We'll go get your stuff in a minute.'  
Patrick just nods and waits for Pete to finish in the shower. As soon as he does he drives the kid over to his motel to gather his bag of clothes, his toothbrush, and the money stuffed under his mattress. $67 and some change. Just enough to pay what he owes on this place with the ten dollars in his pocket. He checks out and follows Pete to the car. When they get back to the apartment, they go downstairs to the laundry room with a pocket full of quarters and take up 4 washers between them.

Patrick's charging his phone, sitting it down on a washer by the power socket when Pete asks him about school.  
'When was the last time you went?'  
'I got halfway through tenth. Started sleeping through class and not turning in the homework.'  
'It's just started up again you know, we could get you into a high school.' As much as school sucked, Patrick had kind of missed having somewhere to be and something to do with his brain.  
'How? I don't have my birth certificate or SSN or anything like that.'  
'I know a guy who knows a guy. Give me your details, I'll get it sorted this week and you'll be in school by Monday. No sweat.' Well, not quite. Pete's guy got the documents, 'Congratulations, you're officially brothers. Just don't let anyone hold it up to an infrared', but there was still the issue of a lack of transcripts, but the local high school's secretary arranged for Patrick to take his placement tests on Monday morning. 

It was Monday afternoon when she called Pete's mobile.  
'You've tested in to the eleventh grade. You can start Wednesday.' Pete said, holding the phone to his shoulder.  
'Wednesday?'  
'You still need notebooks and shit.' Pete finished talking to the secretary and hung up. 'I told you it wouldn't be a problem.'  
'Thanks, Pete.' He would have to find a way to show his gratitude. Help out a little more around the apartment, for starters, now that his arm was better and his stomach didn't hurt so much.  
'Don't sweat it, Patrick.' Pete ruffled the kid's hair and went to start dinner. The next day in Pete's lunch hour they went shopping for notebooks and pens.  
'No problem,' Pete had said when Patrick had thanked him. 'Just work hard, ok?' He had promised he would. 

That night he snuck into Pete's room and crawled onto the comforter, intending to show his gratitude for what the man had done.  
'Hey, Pete. Are you lonely?' He let one eye fall open.  
'No. I'm tired.'  
'Can't sleep? Bed too cold?' Patrick slipped under the covers.  
'No. The bed's fine. You have school tomorrow, you should be asleep.'  
'I'm not tired. I'd rather stay up with you.' He leaned in toward Pete, who put his hands on Patrick's shoulders.  
'What are you doing?'  
'Appreciating what you've done for me.' He tried to slide a leg between Pete's.  
'Go to bed, Patrick.'  
'I'm in bed.'  
'Your bed.'  
'I'm really grateful Pete.' He crept closer.  
'That's nice, but you don't have to show it this way.'  
'You don't want to have some fun?'  
'No. I've told you before, you don't need to do that here, or anywhere, ever again; and I would never want you to.'  
'But I want to.' Exasperated, Pete sits up. Patrick follows.  
'Patrick. You're fifteen, and I'm straight. This is not happening.'  
'I'm straight too, but fun is fun right?'  
'No, it's no-you're straight?' Pete totally got sidetracked from his original point.  
'Yeah. There's more money in 'gay for pay'.'  
'Well, I don't care. Either way this isn't happening. I don't want to sleep with you, and I'm not going to. Go to bed.'  
Patrick climbs out and returns to the couch. Pete hears him call 'Night Pete' through the wall.  
'Night, Patrick.'

It wasn't the last time he tried that, but he eventually got the idea that Pete truly had no interest in him that way. 

It was March when Patrick came home from school to find Pete on the phone.  
‘Yeah, anything we can move in to soon. The lease is up at the start of May. It can’t be too far from Patrick’s school. That’s my brother. Someplace with another couple of bedrooms would be nice. Look, I gotta go; he’s just walked in and I haven’t talked to him yet. Thanks man, bye.’  
‘You’re moving?’  
‘Hey, kid, how was school?’  
‘Fine.’ Patrick dropped his messenger bag by the door. ‘You’re moving?’  
‘We are. How do you feel about a bigger place, your own room? It’s about time, really.’ Patrick had been sleeping on an ikea flat pack Pete bought him in the unused dining room area, cordoned off by a curtain for privacy. He continued, ‘I got a call from Ryan in Philly, you know my friend whose name’s on the lease? He gave me the heads up that it’s coming to a close and the owner wants to sell this place off. Good riddance to the guy, he’s a shit landlord anyway.’ The ‘For Sale’ sign was going up on the building the next day, the owner was just running out the leases now. 

‘Yeah, no kidding. So, when is this happening?’  
‘May. It’s not great timing with your finals and all, but it’s going to be hard to find somewhere sooner. Truth be told, we could have done with more notice.’ Patrick takes a look around and notices the piles of boxes littering every surface in the kitchen. ‘Thought I’d get a head start, then I realized we need to find someplace first, and I hate house hunting, or the idea of it anyway, I’ve never actually done it, so I called up a real estate agent. Not that I love going through someone else, but hey, we’ve got boxes so…’ Pete could get kind of scatterbrained sometimes, but he was kind of all over the place right now, jumping from one idea to another, not pausing for breath in-between. 

‘You take your pills this morning?’ Patrick wasn’t being smart. Somewhere along the line after Pete took him in, he started looking out for the guy as much as he looked after him. It didn’t take long to notice that sometimes Pete forgot to medicate. Rarely, but still, it didn’t always end well. One night he found Pete sitting up in the kitchen, turning over a small knife in his hands. Calmly, a little too calmly. He gently took the knife and steered Pete into bed, who’d then grabbed hold of him, fingers wound into his hoodie, scared to be alone. Patrick had sat up with him all night, carding his fingers through Pete’s hair long after he fell asleep. 

‘Yeah, ‘Trick. I did. I’m just a little stressed today. Gee might have to close up shop if things don’t pick up soon. He gave me the heads up that he might have to let some people go. I’ve asked Antonio for more hours, but there aren’t many he can give me right now. It’ll be okay though, ‘cause Gee knows I’ve got you to look out for. He said he’ll keep me on for as long as he can.’ Gee was Gerard, the owner/manager of the comic book store where Pete worked part time, and Antonio was the manager of the music store where Pete worked the rest of the time. Both of his bosses were pretty cool and didn’t mind Patrick hanging out in the stores.

‘Do you need me to get a job? I mean, I have the documents now, so I could get something legit.’  
‘No, your job is to go to school. We’ll be fine. It’s just all at once, y’know?’ Now was not a good time to tell Pete he’d be getting a bad grade in gym for always sitting out after being ‘winded’ in the first round of dodge ball, ‘twisting’ his ankle in the first of many laps, and volunteering to bench warm in basketball. Patrick hated sports.  
‘You feeling okay then?’ Sometimes even with the pills, Patrick knew that Pete wasn’t quite right.  
‘I should be asking you that. I’m fine. Go do homework or something while I call the agent.’ He didn’t have homework. Well, only to re-read a chapter for English class. He’d read the book through on the day it was assigned and it wouldn’t take him half an hour to read it again before school tomorrow. He could read it over breakfast if he got Pete to drive him. He did laundry instead and tidied up some of the mess in the living room. Empty soda cans and pizza boxes from the night before, stacks of CD’s and vinyl lying around on every surface that needed putting back into the shelf and storing in milk crates. When he came back from shifting the washing to the dryer and tidied up his ‘room’ (aka making his bed and closing his drawers), Pete was moving stacks of boxes out of the way into the bedroom.  
‘Ok, now that’s all organized, let’s make dinner. Actually, I don’t want to cook. You think Meg’s working tonight?’ So they went to the diner. Pete knew he’d moved up in her good books when Patrick went to the bathroom after their meal and she came up to refill his coffee. 

‘You know, Scrappy, I think it’s sweet what you’re doing for that kid.’  
‘What? He’s my brother.’ It didn’t even feel like a lie anymore. It was funny how quickly it became true. Pete sipped his coffee.  
‘Bull. You act like brothers, but you sure as hell aren’t related.’ He shrugged and stood up, draining the cup and throwing some notes on the counter.  
‘I’m not doing anything for him that someone didn’t do for me.’  
‘Well, you look good. Happy. You both do. It’s nice.’ She’d know. She’d gotten a biweekly look in at their transformation from strangers to friends, to something vaguely resembling family. Pete gave her a warm smile.  
‘Thanks Meg. Have a nice night.’ She picked up the cash and caught sight of Patrick coming out of the men’s room.  
‘See ya, boys.’ She smiled at the kid as he gave her a shy little wave before catching up with Pete at the door. 

They went home to watch movies on the couch, and not for the first time, Patrick fell asleep on Pete’s shoulder, letting him card his fingers through his hair. Pete noticed this and tried to rouse him.  
‘Time for bed, ‘Trick.’  
‘Wait, I have to tell you something. I’m getting a ‘D’ in gym.’ He slurred his words, still half asleep.  
‘I know. Your teacher called me today. I figured you’d tell me yourself soon enough. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Bed, now.’ But Patrick was already out again. Unwilling and unable to move him on his own (Patrick was already as tall as him), Pete lay him down on the couch and retrieved his pillow and blanket.  
‘Sweet dreams, kid.’

It was Patrick’s birthday (‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed’ Pete had joked, planting one on his cheek before handing him a slightly beat up acoustic guitar (he was obsessed with Pete’s bass and was already pretty good at playing it, so Pete thought to offer a challenge) ‘It’s a little old, ‘cause it’s second or third or fourth hand, but that just means it’s got character, Happy Birthday Patrick’) when the news came that the agent had found them a place. ‘It’s a nice house, a little on the older side, but structurally sound and not in need of any major repairs. You could easily strike a deal with the owners for a reduced rent if you’re willing to do a little bit of handy work’.

“A little on the older side” turned out to be an understatement. It was a really old house, maybe 40’s or 50’s, just a ways away. Patrick could still go to his school and everything. In fact, there was a bus line that would cut his walking time in half. But what he liked most about it when Pete took him to see it one night, dangling the keys from his finger was the space. There’d be room to move (not like their one-bed apartment) and really good acoustics because the place was all wood and open spaces. 

Pete took him up to show him the bedrooms ‘Obviously, I’m taking the master. But you can take your pick from the rest of the rooms-no more dining room corner for you’. Pete really didn’t need to feel so bad about that. He’d fed, clothed and sheltered Patrick when the rest of the world had turned its back on him…he’d done more than could have ever been expected, and Patrick loved him for it. 

The kid found himself drawn to a sunroom on the west side of the house, complete with bay windows at the front of the house. This would be a great place to play music if Pete had no other plans for it. Pete walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder: ‘Record player over there, CD’s in that corner, guitars on that wall.’ 

In the end there were 5 other bedrooms to choose from.  
A room on the east side of the upper level, on the other side of the bathroom next to Pete’s that got the morning light and a nice breeze with the windows open;  
A room in the center of the upper level, not far from the stairs in the middle of the hallway that looked out over the backyard (which was small, but a yard was a yard they supposed). Pete eventually turned that into a study/office;  
Two more bedrooms and a bathroom on the west side of the upper level, both more or less identical-good ventilation, nice light in the afternoon, and the advantage of being as far from Pete’s room as possible (the guy was restless at night, it occasionally resulted in Patrick being kept up by his energy alone) and;  
Downstairs was the kitchen, dining, and living spaces, along with the music room, but to the east of the house, there was a small den with French doors that could be another bedroom if Patrick liked it enough. He didn’t. In the end he chose the bedroom in the northwestern corner. 

They ordered Chinese and ate it on the dining room floor, legs crossed like preschoolers with the windows thrown open and moonlight pouring in.  
‘So, this place is a lot bigger than our apartment.’ Pete started.  
Patrick didn’t know where this was leading, but he nodded anyway.  
‘And when I saw this place the other day, I was thinking that it’s been nice having someone to come home to, even if they leave their shoes by the door for me to trip up on.’ Patrick had the grace to look embarrassed. He’d been told twenty times not to do that.  
‘Sorry, Pete.’  
‘I’ll get over it. My point is, you and I, we’re like a family now, right?’ In some strange way, yes, they really were. Patrick nodded again.  
‘How would you feel if we opened this place up and took some people in? Kids like you.’  
‘Teenage prostitutes?’ Patrick raised an eyebrow.  
‘Kids like you,’ Pete emphasized, ‘who need someone to look out for them.’ Patrick turned the thought over for a little too long. Pete was getting worried.  
‘Pattycakes? I won’t do it if you don’t want us to. You’re my priority here. I just thought, since we had the room…’  
‘What? Pete, no, you should. I think you should do it. You could really help people.’  
‘You sure?’ Pete lit up like a Christmas tree.  
‘Yeah, it’ll be great to have more people around.’ Patrick’s smile almost matched. A vast improvement on the early days of living with Pete. For the first time in a while, he’s excited about something other than band at school, and Pete’s really truly happy. They’d had a rough few months (emotionally speaking) with him. 

Things never stayed happy for long in the Wentz/Stump household. Only the next afternoon Patrick came home to Pete drinking on the couch.  
‘Pete, are you alright?’  
‘Fine, ‘Trick. What are you doing home from school?’  
‘Its 4 o’clock. Are you sure you’re okay?’ Pete didn’t drink often but Patrick always wondered if maybe he’d turn violent. He’d had clients like that once.  
‘I’m awesome. Your turn to cook dinner. I’m getting a shower.’ Patrick did his homework at the kitchen table and wondered if maybe Pete was trying to drown himself in there. He was about to knock on the door and check when he comes out, toweling his hair in a pair of sweats.  
‘Sorry about that. Look, I have to talk to you.’ Patrick bristled. He’d been trying harder in gym and he hadn’t got detention or even skipped school. He didn’t know what he might be in trouble for.  
‘Did my school call? Because I swear I don’t know what it’s about. I haven’t done anything. Model student, honest.’  
‘No, no it’s nothing like that, you’re not in trouble. It’s just…Gee was at the store today.’ Pete’s bracing himself to tell Patrick he’s out of a job.  
‘Oh?’  
‘Yeah, it’s not good news. He’s days from boarding the place up. It’s over.’ They’d known for a while that Gerard might lose the store, but they’d both thought things were picking up. 

‘Me too man, but our accountant screwed up and we’re in the hole for a lot of money. It’s just about deep enough to be my grave.’ Gerard had said to his second last employee. Pete clapped a hand onto his shoulder and shook him gently.  
‘Don’t say that man, it’s gonna be okay. You still got the house, the wife, and the kid. You haven’t lost it all, am I right?’  
‘Right.’ Gerard felt awful. Pete had a kid, too, and this place was his livelihood as well. At least Gee still had Lindsay’s income tiding them over. He should be comforting Pete, not the other way around. ‘Pete, I really did my best to save this place because I know what it means to you, too. But there’s nothing else I can do. I’m sorry.’ He had done more than enough, Pete had realized when he noticed the staff weren’t coming in to work. 

‘What’s up man? Where is everyone? Haven’t seen Ray or Bob for days.’ Gee had tried to warn him in March.  
‘I had to let them go.’ His boss must have sensed the ‘But they’ve been here longer than I have!’ about to fall off Pete’s tongue. He held up his hand.  
‘They understood that you have Patrick. Neither of them have a kid to feed. A friend of mine’s hiring, so I sent them his way with a good word. Gabe will look after them. They’ll be fine.’ Pete felt worse a fortnight later when Gee laid off the next guy. 

‘Where’s Iero?’ The look on his bosses face said it all. But Frank’s girlfriend was about to pop!  
‘No. Take him back. I’ll go.’  
‘Pete-‘  
‘Frankie’s got a kid on the way! I’ll get more hours from Antonio, me and Patrick will be fine.’ What hours? Antonio didn’t have any to give. In fact, he’d had to cut Pete’s hours last weekend.  
‘I had Lindsay set him up with an interview first. I looked after him, don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave him high and dry.’ He’d stuffed the day’s takings in an envelope as a severance package. Frank hadn’t wanted to take it, but they were about to cut the lights off and the fridge was on the blink. Plus, there were about a hundred things they hadn’t bought for the baby yet. ‘It’s a drop in the bucket man. It doesn’t make a difference to the store anymore. But you got your girls to think of. I’m just sorry I can’t do more.’ Frank took the envelope, wiped away a tear and hugged his boss. ‘You’re a good man Way.’ With a kiss on Gee’s head, Frank had left to go home to his girlfriend and tell her the news. That had left Pete and Mikey, Gee’s brother, who wasn’t even getting paid.

‘Oh. Is it bad? Do I need to get a job?’  
‘No. It’s not great, but we’ll be fine. I’ve been preparing for this for a while.’ He’d been putting cash aside every week just in case this should happen, and had posted a flyer in the back room at the music store, “Need to cover your shift? Call Pete”. Most of the staff were teenagers and were happy to get back their Friday nights. Those extra dollars had gone straight into savings. They weren’t even written in the budget. Patrick got up and started cooking dinner.  
‘If you say so.’ He did. In the meantime, he had to organize a week-by-week agreement with the landlord until they could finalize the moving truck and a day off that didn’t mean losing income.  
‘I promise, ‘Tricky, everything is going to be fine.’


End file.
